Fragments of Broken Dreams
by eyepatchesandpipes
Summary: A series of vignettes exploring Andy's relationship with Miranda after 5 years apart.
1. The Hospital

_**A/N:**_** A story that just came to me. It's going to be a series of short vignettes uploaded either every day of twice per day until you find out what really happened.**

It's been 5 years since you last saw Miranda and the shock of such a meeting is obvious on both of your faces. Eyes wide, you smile at your old boss and continue down the hospital corridor.

"Andréa?"

Your breath catches in your throat and you turn to face Miranda. That voice brings back so many memories and you close your eyes for a moment. Miranda's lips on your throat, giggling in your state of intoxication as you run bare-foot through central park trying to avoid the paparazzi. Passion-filled nights at the townhouse fill your head like the broken fragments of a long lost dream. It takes all of your self-control to open your eyes without blushing and remember that this is the real Miranda; the Ice Queen boss of Runway. This is not the Miranda who has tormented your dreams with kisses and promises of forever.

"Yes, Miranda?" The phrase has been uttered so many times as an assistant that you are truly brought back to reality. Miranda doesn't love you and, for the love of God, you _are not_ in love with Miranda Priestly!

"How are you feeling? Is your leg better?"

The concern in Miranda's voice startles you and you glance down at your leg, still not used to seeing it without the cast. You absent-mindedly scratched at where the IV has been removed from your arm and nod.

"Yes, thank you. Bones are all mended."

Miranda's eyes shimmer and for a moment you swear that the mask slips.

"Well, that's good then."

Then she's gone. It's only when you've left the hospital that you realise what's happened; you have just spoken civilly with Miranda Priestly after walking out on her in Paris. Miranda inquired into your health – Miranda had known that your leg had been broken.

Miranda hadn't dismissed you with 'That's all'.


	2. The Apartment

The next time your paths cross it's not an accident.

A knock at the front door of the shabby little apartment you used to own with Nate gains your attention and you put your book down, straightening your legs and rising from the old sofa in the middle of your living room.

You open the door and your features morph into an expression of surprise at seeing Miranda standing in front of you, her hands clasped in front of her holding her Prada bag.

"Miranda?" Your voice hold the unspoken question; '_What are you doing here?'_

Miranda offers you a small smile – _it couldn't possibly be shy, could it? _– and answers anyway.

"Andréa, I'm sorry to stop by unannounced, but you left something in the hospital. Instead of calling you back to collect it, I offered to bring it." Even though her tone is even, you can tell that something's not quite right. You were her best assistant and although 5 years have passed, somehow your instincts at listening to what she doesn't say have only improved.

"Oh, well, thanks." It's awkward for a moment and you can't stand it, so you step aside. "Please, come in. Can I get you a cup of coffee? It's not Starbucks, but…"

Miranda laughs and you can't help but think that it's a beautiful sound. You want to hear it more often.

"Andréa, I've always preferred your coffee to Starbucks; you know that."

And then it's awkward again because, although you're not sure why, instead of ignoring the little comment, you address it.

"No, actually, I didn't know that…"

The atmosphere is tense and the silence is thick and you wish that sometimes you would just stop and think before you speak.

The light seems to die in Miranda's eyes and she almost visibly deflates before you, and you wish _(stupid, stupid, stupid!)_ that you hadn't said anything.

"Yes, well… Never mind the coffee. Here." She opens the bag and fishes out a necklace. It's simple but beautiful, a golden heart with a keyhole in the middle. You stare at it in awe but can't help pointing something out.

"That's not my necklace; I've never seen it before."

Miranda's grip on it tightens slightly and you get the feeling that you should have just smiled and thanked her.

You think that Miranda's words catch in her throat, but you can't be sure. "You were wearing it when you got to the hospital; it must be yours."

You look into her eyes and feel a chill. Every nerve is screaming at you to keep your mouth shut and accept it.

You nod slightly and put your hand out, palm up. Miranda seems to relax slightly and she lowers it into your hand gently, her fingers brushing against yours as you tell yourself that there's no spark of electricity at the slight contact.

"Thank you." The words seem slightly forced as they leave your mouth and you know that Miranda can tell. Her lips tighten into a line and you find yourself wishing for the smiling, laughing Miranda that had entered you apartment. Vaguely, you wonder what happened to cause it all to go so wrong so quickly.

"Yes. Well. I'll be leaving."

And then, once again, she's gone. Your apartment door swings shut behind her and you're left with your coffee _(which she prefers to Starbucks, as you should know) _and a gold necklace which makes you wonder.

Maybe, just maybe, Miranda was trying to give you a present?

You look at the necklace again and feel… happy. You know that you'll treasure it, because although you _somehow_ messed up the giving, you can still enjoy the receiving.


	3. The Mirror

The third time you don't actually see Miranda, but instead receive a message.

You're sitting at your desk at the Mirror, working away. You look up as a professional messenger enters. He's carrying a bouquet of flowers with a tag attached.

"Delivery for Andrea Sachs?"

"Here!" You call out and he walks over. Mission accomplished, you watch him leave with the bouquet nestled in your arms. Smiling, you raise them to your face and sniff. It's a beautiful scent, the mix of flowers complementing each other perfectly. You grab the tag and your eyes widen as you read the message.

_Andrea,_

_Happy birthday. I promise never again to forget an important day such as this, because one of the most painful experiences is simply being forgotten. You will never be forgotten._

_Yours, _

_Miranda_

You re-read the message again and again until the words begin to blur. You don't know why you've started crying but you smile through the tears. You think, once again, the just maybe Miranda cares.


	4. The Benefit

_**A/N:**_** An apology for the previous pitifully short chapter.**

The next time you see Miranda she takes your breath away. You can't help feasting your eyes on her bare shoulders, the gentle slope of that beautiful swan-like neck, her stunning blue eyes which –_oh my God, she's looking right at me!_

You're entranced, watching her across the room in gorgeous black Valentino and you think that no-one else could ever do him justice quite like Miranda. Her eyes are fixed on you and you watch her as she peruses your dress. It's what she did every day when you worked for her and (just like then, not that you'd ever admit it) you get the deliciously warm sensation in your abdomen.

"Andy?"

The photographer you're with, Patty, gains your attention and you turn to him with a ready smile. "I'm gonna go get some photos then head home. See ya'll on Monday, right?"

"Right." You respond, not really paying attention. You turn back to look at Miranda and suddenly she's much closer, heading straight towards you with one of the new Emily's following behind.

"Andréa," Miranda drawls and you swear that your knees actually shake at the delicious voice, "How delightful to see you again. You look positively…" she pauses and your thighs clench in anticipation, "_ravishing_."

It's a wonder that you manage to respond coherently, but before you know it someone's approaching. You intend to slip away but you're addressed.

"Miranda, how lovely to see you!" Air kisses are exchanged, "This must be the lovely Andrea Sachs. _The Mirror,_ is it?"

You nod vaguely, startled that the New York elite know your name. A comment is made, "What a truly lovely couple you make." Your inner journalist is scoffing; _doesn't this upper-class suck up know any adjectives other than 'lovely'?_ But it sinks in and you tense. You'd been called a couple. You're silently panicking; what's she going to say? Heart beating quickly, breathing rate increased you have the horrible feeling that Miranda is going to say something terribly crushing. Your heart's going to be broken before you even have the chance to make a move on these strange emotions that have been tormenting you. Every night there have been dreams of Miranda. Some sexual, others… Others so simple and happy and every day, regular events that just make you smile. Those dreams leave you wanting a life that you can never have, not now that this upper-crust 'gentleman' has ruined everything before it's all begun.

It's all about to go wrong, she's about to shoot it down and then… Then Miranda's arm is around your waist and drawing you in close. Then you can smell her perfume and you can see her smile and it's genuine. It's like you're in your apartment all over again and Miranda's laughing that beautiful, genuine laugh. This time, you promise yourself, you will _not_ mess it up.

So that's how your evening goes. You get your quotes from the movers and shakers of New York and not once do you leave Miranda's side. Many people comment on how beautiful you look and how lucky Miranda is to be standing beside someone like you, but what surprises you is Miranda's reaction to it all. Instead of disgust, she smiles and draws you in closer with every compliment and you think… maybe this is what she wants.

And you think that's it's probably time to get rid of the 'maybe's and take some action. Just… not tonight, because tonight is being taken out of your hands.

At the end of the night you're standing next to Miranda as Roy pulls up and you refuse a lift home; your taxi is already waiting. Miranda smiles at you and you try to convince yourself _(for heaven's sake!)_ that you didn't just swoon.

"I'm glad that you attended tonight, Andréa. It made the evening most enjoyable."

You grin at her and your heart swells with affection as she smiles in return.

"I had a great time too, Miranda."

She leans forward and places a kiss on your cheek. You inhale deeply, committing her scent to memory and relishing in how shockingly familiar it smells, like this is the scent of the woman you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with. Subconsciously, you realise that you already know her scent from your dreams and it dawns on you that you must have been feeling like this since you were her assistant, remembering such subtle details.

Her lips may rest on your cheek for slightly too long, slightly too close to your lips to be a friendly kiss but you don't mind.

You watch her walk toward the car and decide, this time, you'll take action. You are _not_ going to watch her walk away and leave you wondering when you'll next see her.

"Miranda?" Your voice shakes slightly but Miranda pretends not to notice as she turns and gazes at you, "When can I see you again?"

Her lips split into a smile with a brilliance that could rival that of the sun and you feel yourself smiling like a fool in return.

"Next Saturday, meet me at the entrance to Central Park on the Upper East Side. 6 o'clock sharp."

In a cloud of Valentino and perfume she's left you once more, but this time you know when you'll see her again.


	5. The Park

You arrive at Central Park 10 minutes early, knowing that Miranda herself always like to be there before the appointed time. Sure enough, you have to wait barely a minute before Roy is pulling up and Miranda is stepping out. She strides towards you confidently but with a relaxing aura about her. Leaning in to kiss your cheek she breathes out against your ear in greeting.

"_Andréa._"

Your knees instantly weaken.

As she pulls back you give her a somewhat shaky smile in greeting. "Miranda, it's good to see you again."

"And you, of course. Shall we?" Miranda smiles at you and links arms with you, leading you into the park. It's surprisingly empty and you find yourself enjoying the walk with Miranda, her closeness keeping you warm against the slightly chilly weather.

After the walk filled with quiet chatter (enquires into your work, health, social life) Miranda leads you up a small incline to a picnic basket on a blanket. Your breath catches in shock at such a romantic gesture. You turn with slightly misty eyes to look at Miranda.

She's smiling at you with such affection that you feel yourself falling for her all over again because (oh, God!) you can finally admit that you've already fallen for her. It may not be love, but you know that it won't be long until you're head over heels for her.

She sits on the blanket and you join her, watching in astonishment as she pulls two hot plates of food out. You almost laugh at the realization that, _of course_, Miranda had a chef prepare the meals. Still, it's such a wonderful gesture that you grin at her and pour the wine.

You eat together and keep edging closer to each other, small talk breaking the silence of the evening. Miranda asks about your love life and whether there's anyone you're interested in. You give her a pointed look, edging ever closer, before you answer.

"Well… there is one person…"

Your breath mingles and you pause for a moment, glancing at Miranda's eyes for permission. She leans forward and captures your lips, sucking gently. Your hands reach up to hold her in place, fingers running through her iconic hair.

The sharping trilling of her phone breaks you apart and she huffs before fishing it out of her bag.

"Hello Bobbsey. Well Mommy's a little busy at the moment. What did your father say? I know that you don't like her, Cassidy, but that doesn't mean she deserves to get covered in custard." You snort and Miranda hushes you with a slight giggle. There's a pause as Cassidy's volume increases and Miranda winces. "Yes, Bobbsey, that was Andréa. No, darling, not yet I'm afraid." Miranda looks at you with such sorrow in her eyes that your heart breaks a little and you want to wipe that expression away. "Okay, Cassidy. I'll be home soon. Mommy loves you too."

Miranda ends the phone call and smiles sadly at you. "I'm sorry, Andréa, but I need to be leaving now."

"Don't worry, Miranda. If the girls need you then you should be at home. I'll talk to you soon, right?" You say, trying to mask your disappointment that the evening had to be cut short. Miranda nods and leans in for another kiss.

You sigh as her lips brush against yours and she pulls back slightly, tear-filled eyes gazing at you.

"_Come home soon."_ She whispers brokenly before leaving you bewildered and wanting to comfort her.


	6. The Desk

_**A/N:**_** This chapter was surprisingly hard to write, seeing as I had no idea what to put in it other than the fact there would be a phone call. I ended up attacking Auraya Kairi Black for ideas which didn't go well because I still refuse to tell her the main plot…**

You pick up your cell phone without looking at the screen, answering on autopilot.

"Sachs."

"Now, Andréa, I believe we've had this conversation before. You need to check your caller ID before answering; we don't want another embarrassing incident like when you misread 'Mother' as 'Miranda' and started talking dirtily to Allison, do we?"

You feel your face heating up and you clear your throat, "M-Miranda? What are you talking about?"

There's a pause before she speaks again, sounding almost nervous, "Nothing, Andréa. Just a little joke; I do have a sense of humour, you know."

You accept the excuse, but you can't help wondering how Miranda knows your mother's name.

"Was there something you needed, Miranda?" You ask politely, cradling your phone between your ear and your shoulder as you resume typing on your laptop. Your assignment needs to be finished by the end of the week; it's now Wednesday and you've gotten nothing more than a line. It seems that since last Friday your head has been full of thoughts about the woman who's now speaking to you.

"I know that your deadlines are tight this time of the year, but I was wondering if you might want to come to the townhouse on Saturday. The girls will be at a sleepover and I think it's the last time I'll have the house to myself for quite a while – especially with the custard throwing incident involving the twins and Greg's new wife," Miranda says and you can almost visualise her lips quirking upwards in amusement.

You hum in agreement, "Well, Lindsay is a bit of a nightmare and Caroline absolutely detests her, so it doesn't surprise me that she got Cassidy to agree with that little plan of hers."

Miranda's silent and you cringe, thinking that you've overstepped some line. You quickly think about what you just said and realise that you must not be at the stage in your relationship with Miranda where you can speak freely about her children. You're about to apologise when Miranda speaks, sounding strangely touched.

"You remembered her name and how the girls feel about her…"

You're hesitant to reply at first but you speak anyway, "Yes… Lindsay MacDonnell. I must have read it somewhere. It probably said that your twins didn't like her much either."

Miranda makes a non-committal sound before clearing her throat, although you can still hear the thick emotion in her voice when she speaks, "Anyway, I expect to see you at my home at 6 pm next Saturday. Don't be late, Andréa!"

You smirk and know that she can hear it in your voice, "I wouldn't dream of it, Miranda."

She huffs and you laugh. The smile is in her voice and you find yourself grinning like a fool, "I'll see you then. Goodbye, I lov-" Miranda makes a choking noise and cuts off the rest of her sentence before ending the connection in record time.

You're left staring at your cell phone, assignment forgotten, as you desperately try to process what's been said. Was Miranda about to confess her love for you? '_But!_' your confused mind protests '_It's only been one date!'_

Staring at the phone cradled in your hands isn't helping matters so you toss it onto the table and pinch the bridge of your nose. Finally you sigh and decide you'll just have to investigate matters further on Saturday.


	7. The Townhouse

You're sitting with Miranda on the sofa in her living room, a glass of wine clasped in your hand and laughing. It's something you never expected to happen in your life but now that you're here you couldn't imagine anything else that would feel so natural and so right.

It seems that the trilling of Miranda's phone signals doom in some shape or form whenever you're on dates together. This time it's Nigel on the other end and from Miranda's expression you can tell it's not good news.

"Ridiculous!" She seethes, "I don't even know how an emergency can come up at Runway when no-one was supposed to be at work. The sheer incompetence of my staff astounds me!" Miranda runs a hand through her hair and takes a deep breath before turning and meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, Andréa, but I simply have to deal with this. I'll be back as soon as possible; in the meantime please make yourself at home."

You nod and smile, following Miranda to the front door. She gives you a sweet kiss before pulling on her coat and walking out the front door to Roy who is already waiting.

You close it behind her before turning to face the corridor in Miranda's townhouse, unsure what to do. Tentatively you push the door open to where you know her study is and enter.

The study practically screams Miranda at you from the small sofa along one wall to the desk where the book is sat. You run your fingers along the leather back of Miranda's chair and imagine her sitting here, glasses on and pouring over every page of her life's work. There's a photograph of the twins smiling up at the camera which is sitting next to a blank frame with the words _I Do_ written across the bottom. You raise an eyebrow, assuming that the picture from Miranda's previous marriage to Stephen had sat there.

Turning from her desk you gaze up at the huge bookcase before you. You smile and run your fingers along the spines of the books, revelling in the feel of old cracked leather. You gaze at the titles of each book in turn and pause when you find one that catches your interest.

_Wuthering Heights_ is followed by _The China Rabbit._ That was followed by another book and another and another. Your breath catches as you realise that this shelf is full of all of your favourite books. The last book, _The Worlds of Robert F Young: Sixteen Stories of Science Fiction and Fantasy, _is your favourite of all the books you've ever read. It was your mother's before you and she had it signed. Every night she would read _The Dandelion Girl_ to you and even now you can hear that famous line from it, spoken in her musical tones.

Pulling the book from the shelf you murmur to yourself, "The day before yesterday I saw a rabbit, and yesterday a deer, and today, you." You flip the cover open and your eyes widen as you see the author's signature on the inner page.

Of course, there's a completely rational explanation; Miranda could simply be a fan herself and she could have had it signed. God knows that she's barely younger than your mother is. Still, as you slip the book back into its place on the shelf you can't help feeling a little bit spooked that all of your favourites are here.

Turning, you leave the study much faster than you entered it. '_Calm down, Andy!_' you tell yourself, '_It's probably nothing!'_

With a sigh you decide to explore the house a bit more. You climb the stairs to the second floor and internally wince as you remember the fight that you walked in on between Miranda and her ex-husband. Glancing around you see two doors with 'Cassidy' and 'Caroline' on the front so you continue up the next flight in search of Miranda's bedroom.

Pushing open the door to her bedroom is similar to how you imagine Alice must have felt arriving in Wonderland. Confused but delighted.

You're not sure what you were expecting but, compared to her study, it's not this. The room's full of warm reds and browns, a huge four-poster bed dominating the room. There's a set of bay windows with cushioning to sit on and a dresser against one wall. All in all the room is tasteful (because, of course, you would expect nothing less of Miranda) but homey. You grin.

Tentatively stepping inside your eyes widen dramatically as you spot what you consider to be the jackpot; Miranda's wardrobe.

In 7 long strides you're pulling the doors open and gasping. Of course, you knew that the dictator of the fashion world would have an impressive closet but this is simply breath-taking. You step inside and run your fingers over the material of the closest cashmere sweater.

Biting your lip you feel vaguely like a child again, sneaking downstairs to grab one more cookie and hoping that you don't get caught. Spotting the La Perla your cheeks heat up and you look away; it's not that you're embarrassed by the sight of underwear – not even if it _is_ Miranda's – but more that you know what your traitorous thoughts will do if you look too long.

Delving deeper into the closet (and absentmindedly watching out for any snow-covered tree branches) something catches your attention at the back. You hurry over, taking the garment in your hands and running your fingers over the blue ('_Cerulean blue!_' your mind quickly provides) material. Your heart's beating quickly and your palms begin to sweat as you wonder how on Earth your lumpy blue sweater has ended up in the back of Miranda's closet.

You drop it and watch it swing on the hanger, feeling slightly sick although not entirely sure why. You glance down and _(Oh dear God, no!)_ spot THE Chanel boots. A small whimper escapes you and you clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle the noise, glancing behind you. No, Miranda is still out, so you return your eyes to what you're seeing. But what exactly _are_ you seeing?

Miranda Priestly has your jumper and boots hidden in the back of her closet. She has all of your favourite books on a shelf in her study, including a signed copy of your favourite signed book.

You slowly sink to the ground as you desperately try to comprehend what's going on, swearing as you sit on something. Pushing it out from underneath you, you gape at the box. Your grandmother's jewellery box.

Fingers shaking, you lift the lid. It's empty, but that doesn't deter you. You lift the top layer off and gaze down at the contents hidden below it. There are pictures; hundreds of pictures with one thing in common. You.

You run your fingers through your hair and take deep calming breaths, not that they help. You lift the first picture off the pile and examine it. It's you in Paris, laughing at something with Nigel as Miranda stands behind you smiling gently. The next is just you sitting in Central Park, hair blowing gently in the breeze. Miranda is with you in the next one and you're gazing up at her with such love in your eyes that you feel physically sick.

_This is not real!_

They're all like that; picture after picture, you and Miranda, you and the girls. At the zoo, in the park, at a benefit. Everywhere, just simple pictures of you being happy. What really chills you is that these could be real; they're just showing you a life you could have with Miranda. It's almost as if she ripped them right out of your dreams; but she didn't. She ripped them out of her own.

You swear for a moment that your heart stops beating as you catch a flash of white.

Reaching for the photograph you let out a choked sob at what you see. You and Miranda, laughing with your hands clasped as you walk down a staircase outside a building. Confetti is being thrown and you're both in white wedding dresses.

You stare for long moments simply taking it in and trying not to throw up. This is so _wrong_ that you don't even know what to do. But that isn't the worst of it.

The next photo you find is of you completely naked, wedding ring shining on your finger, tangled in the bed sheets. There's a window behind you and you know what this is. This is your honeymoon in Miranda's sick fantasy, but worst of all –_God, I think I'm going to be sick_- is the location. That's Hotel Danieli overlooking Riva degli Shiavoni in Venice, Italy; the place you've always dreamt of staying in for your honeymoon.

You don't know how Miranda could have known that or why she's done this but you no longer care. You have to get out.

You grab a handful of pictures – the wedding, the honeymoon and the one from Paris included – and you stand. In a split second decision you pull your jumper from the hanger and run.

Out of the closet, out of her bedroom and down two flights of stairs.

You barrel into the living room, snatching up your purse before hurrying on through to the hallway. You pull open the closet door before pulling you coat off the hanger. You've just put it on and slung your purse over your shoulder, clasping the pictures in one hand and the cerulean jumper in the other when the front door swings open.

You freeze and stare at Miranda. She frowns.

"Andréa? You're leaving?" Her eyes widen as she notices the jumper in your hand. For the first time in living memory, Miranda stutters, "W-what are you doing with that? Give it here."

She makes to snatch it but you jerk backwards, nerves quickening your reflexes.

"Andréa, you have to listen to me, you're making a mistake-"

"Yes, I am." You answer, voice shockingly steady, "I should have left as soon as I found the book. Because that is _my_ copy of the Robert Young book, isn't it? All of those books are mine. What else have you stolen, Miranda? The books, the sweater, the boots and then," you laugh, getting slightly hysterical as you wave the photos in your hand in front of Miranda's face, "then THESE! I don't even know what to say about these, Miranda! What are they, some form of a sick fantasy you've concocted? You take pictures of me when I'm not paying attention and _Photoshop_ them so that we're, what, married!"

You throw the picture of the wedding on the floor in front of you and stare at Miranda as her eyes follow it. The one of you naked is next.

"Honeymooning! Like some happy couple; what the hell is this? Have you been _stalking_ me, Miranda? Is that what this is? You've been watching me all this time, making up some perverse fantasy where we're happily married?"

The photos all flutter to the ground as realization slams into you hard enough to knock the wind out of you. You stare down at them as the picture of Paris lands on the top of the pile.

"Oh God, that's what it was about!" You say and look up as Miranda returns her gaze to you, "The comment, about me talking _dirtily_ to my own mother! That's something you imagined isn't it, to get some form of sick pleasure from it?" You shake your head, trembling from the force of your emotions, "This has been going on since Paris, hasn't it? HASN'T IT!"

"Andréa, please!"

Miranda tries to reach out to you but you slap her hand away.

"Don't touch me. Don't you dare touch me! I don't want to see you, or hear from you ever again! Have you got that? Never!"

You shove past her, photographs scattered on the floor and jumper gripped in your hand. You wrench the front door open and disappear into the night.

_**A/N: **_**Bet you didn't see that coming…**


	8. The Sidewalk

You're walking home after coming off the subway, tears streaming down your face. Wrapping your arms tighter around you, you huddle down in your coat and wipe angrily at the tracks on your cheeks. You hate it, but your thoughts are filled with Miranda. _'How is it,'_ you wonder, _'that I can still care about her so much after I found out about her, about how sick she is…'_

Your apartment building is looming before you and you shiver, feeling intimidated. Is this how she got the pictures? Sneaking into your apartment and taking pictures of you as you slept, having cameras set up?

You stop on the sidewalk as you see a car pull up in front of the building, heart hammering in your chest as you recognize her car. You judge the distance from where you're stood to the front door. Can you make it?

You take a deep breath, pulling your keys out of your bag and readying yourself. Her car door swings open and you have no choice.

You run for the front door to the building, grabbing the handle and swinging it open.

_SHIT!_

You resign yourself to fate and turn to face Miranda, her hand firmly clasping your wrist with desperation in her eyes.

"Miranda, please, just let me go."

"No. Andréa, you will listen to me!"

You practically snarl, ripping your arm from her grip and stumbling backwards slightly, "So you can say what? Explain how you got those photos or let me in on the whole sick fantasy?"

Miranda's hand drops to her side and she shakes her head at you, "You're going to regret what you've said to me, Andréa. I am going to make you understand, and then you are going to be _so_ sorry."

You watch the car driving away with her inside, a deep sense of foreboding settling in your stomach. You have the horrible feeling that you're going to regret ever going into that wardrobe.


	9. The Bar

You look from Nigel, to Emily, to Serena.

"Well?"

Serena shifts uncomfortably while Nigel avoids eye contact and Emily huffs in irritation.

Serena finally breaks the silence, "It's… certainly something to come across," she finally offers and you roll your eyes.

"Yes, that's certainly one way to put it; how about _fucking_ scary? I think that's slightly more appropriate!" you rant, panic making itself known in your voice and wild gesticulations.

"Oh, bloody hell, Sachs!" Emily cuts in irritably, "Stop complaining and go talk to Miranda about it! Either that, or file for a restraining order!"

You pause, looking into Emily's narrowed eyes, and say "You know, Em, that's actually a good idea…"

Nigel, who has been sipping his drink at the time, spluttered and slammed the glass down, "No, Six, that's a very _bad_ idea! Don't listen to Thin Lizzy there," he said, gesturing at Emily with his thumb and ignoring her indignant snort, "Unless you go with her first suggestion. _Talk_ to Miranda, find out what's going on instead of freaking out and doing something you'll regret later."

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of phrase, shifting uncomfortably, "Nige, she had my stuff in her house. She had hundreds of fake pictures of me in my Grandmother's jewellery box, pictures showing a life together that we don't have. Then she threatened me, saying that she's going to make me regret finding my damn things!"

Nigel smiles sadly at you, "Six, maybe you just need to talk it out with her. Come on, trust me here. If not for me, talk to her for your inner journalist, because I know it's killing you not knowing how she got the pictures."

"Oh my God," you mutter, leaning back and pressing the heel of your hands against your eyes, "You're in on it too, aren't you?"

Serena frowns and Emily rolls her eyes, signalling another round of drinks from the waiter.

"Six, we're not conspiring against you, if that's what you think. We just want what is best for you and if Miranda's threatening you then maybe you should find out why exactly…"

You see through the poor excuse and shake your head, standing up.

"Andrea, you have _got _to calm down!" Emily announces in the same manner she did when you still worked at _Runway._

You practically snarl at her as you turn to walk away. "I can't believe you're all on her side… you were supposed to be my friends."


	10. The Party

You're not too sure what you're doing here, once again surrounded by the New York elite in a party that you should never have been invited to. It's ridiculous, quite frankly, that you get invited to these things but you're not going to complain.

That is, until Miranda makes her entrance.

It shouldn't surprise you that she's invited to one of these things and considering that she's been following you for 5 years it should _definitely _not surprise you that her eyes immediately find you in a crowd of hundreds.

You'd think it romantic, if it wasn't quite so creepy.

Quietly wishing that this was a masquerade (and trying not to think about the fact that Miranda could probably spot you anyway) you take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and knock it back.

When in Rome… Although, you doubt that anyone would be so ungraceful as to down their drink. You then decide you need another one once you spot Miranda headed straight for you.

Vaguely, you wonder if these attention-grabbing vultures have a Sixth Sense about these things. As soon as Miranda starts to move they clear a path for her straight towards you, leaving you penned in. On the edge of your vision you see a few cameras pop out and inwardly curse the paparazzi.

'_Surely she won't exact her revenge in such a public place?'_ you wonder, glancing from side to side only to see people staring at you.

"Andréa," _'Shit, how did she get there so fast?'_ "How lovely to see you, darling."

She leans in to give you an air kiss and you flinch involuntarily. She notices, as does everyone else. Muttering starts up around you as she leans back.

'_In for a dime, in for a dollar…'_ you think to yourself before straightening your back and speaking loudly and clearly, "Don't. Call. Me. Darling."

You barely register the hurt flickering across Miranda's face, or Emily rolling her eyes, or the increase in murmurs. Expression set, you step away from Miranda and turn to leave the whole thing behind you, not caring about the cameras flashing.

Then she's grabbing your wrist again and you're spinning to face her. Then her lips are covering yours.

You freeze in shock for a moment before pulling back sharply, absolutely furious.

"Goddamn it, Miranda!" you screech, anger pouring off you in waves, "Just leave me alone! I didn't want to make a big deal out of this, I just wanted to leave this whole mess behind me, but to hell with it!"

Nigel is frantically signalling behind Miranda for you to stop talking while Emily looks about ready to have a nervous breakdown. The people around you are staring in morbid fascination but you keep talking.

"I am going to file a restraining order, Miranda, because what you're doing is just _wrong!_ You've been stalking me for 5 years, stealing my things and hiding them in your home, fabricating multiple pictures of me to create a life where we're married and in love – a life that _IS NOT REAL!_ You need help, Miranda."

You let the words sink in and glance at the expressions of those around you. They're confused, horrified, pitiful… and all directed at you.

"What?" you ask them as they stare at you as if you're a lost cause, "What!"

"Andréa," Miranda captures your attention again and you turn to look at her. Her eyes are filling with tears and she strokes the inside of your wrist gently with her thumb, "Andréa, darling. It's the truth. Those pictures aren't fabricated, I haven't been taking your things and I most certainly haven't been stalking you!"

You whimper and look around at the people surrounding you. They have the same expressions, but this time you notice something else. It's like they think you have some incurable illness, as though you're condemned.

"Andréa that 'fantasy'… it's real. That is our life together, you are my wife."

"No… No, no, no, no, no! That's not possible, that can't be possible! I would know if you were my wife, I'd remember! You're lying, please," a choked sob escapes you, "please, tell me you're lying…"

Nigel approaches and rests a hand on your shoulder, "It's the truth, Six. You're married to Miranda."

You look into Miranda's tear-filled eyes and she smiles reassuringly at you. "I'm your wife," she murmurs, "and I love you very much."

You feel nauseous and weak. Suddenly you start shaking and crying, feeling like you're being smothered. You can't get enough oxygen and your knees give out letting you sink to the floor. You're vaguely aware of your name being called out and Miranda collapsing to her knees in front of you, drawing you into a hug. Nothing seems real and you just want everything to end.


	11. The Hospital Again

Miranda walks into the room and you look up from where you had been fiddling with a stray thread on the blanket. She smiles at you and you shift uncomfortably in the hospital bed.

"Just a panic attack," she says to you as she stands next to your bed, taking one of your hands into her own and squeezing gently, "You'll be fine."

You take a deep breath and gently squeeze her hand in return. You're not sure how to feel; how on Earth are you supposed to feel? Everything you thought was true has come crashing down around you and you've suddenly found out that you have this whole other life that up until an hour ago you didn't know existed.

You bite your lip as you realise that that's not quite true; you did know it existed but you just assumed it was part of your imagination, or a fantasy that Miranda made up. Every night you've been haunted by dreams, fragments of memories from a life you've forgotten. A life that Miranda has remembered – can still remember!

Looking up at her you feel your eyes tearing up.

"I'm so sorry…"

It's barely a whisper but you know that she hears because she wraps her arms around you and kisses your hair.

"I'm sorry too, you deserve to know the truth. But, I can't tell you just yet," she straightens up and smiles apologetically at you, "The girls will want to know what's going on; this is probably all over the news by now. Leslie did a good job keeping the press from reporting when the accident took place, but…"

Miranda sighs, shakes her head and gives you a kiss on the cheek before regretfully leaving your hospital room.

You don't know how long you're lying there, whether it's seconds or minutes, but your silence is interrupted by Emily pushing the door open.

"Em?" you question and she offers you a small smile.

"Hello, Andy. How are you feeling?"

"Confused… exhausted, but mostly confused."

Emily chuckles softly and sits in one of the uncomfortable chairs by your bedside.

"She really loves you, you know," she begins and you look at her with a raised eyebrow. She smiles grimly and nods, "Oh, yes. More than you can imagine. After the accident, when you broke your leg, you fell into a coma. It was two weeks before you woke up and you didn't know anything. Couldn't even remember your own name."

Emily chuckles bitterly and you see her tearing up. She furiously brushes the tears away and steadies her voice before continuing, "The doctors were shocked that you'd lost your memory; they hadn't even realised that you hit your head. They later discovered a small bruise on the side of your head and Miranda, of course, was furious. They kept you sedated for a few days until it became clear that you had regained the majority of your memories from prompts, up until you getting the job at The Mirror. After that, no matter what they tried, they couldn't get the memories back," Emily clears her throat and gently takes your hand in hers, "God, Andy, it was hell. They said that you could regain your memories but it would be best to let that happen over time, that informing you of the memories that you lost might cause you unnecessary trauma…"

"Like having a panic attack in front of the most important socialites in New York, as well as half of the paparazzi?" You ask, lips twisting into a wry smile.

Emily smiles genuinely and laughs, "I doubt they were thinking of something quite so dramatic, Andrea, but we all know that you never do anything half-arsed," she sobers up and the smile fades, "Miranda has been through hell and back; we all had to act like everything was 5 years in the past. Miranda paid an ungodly sum for you to get your old apartment back; she had most of your things moved in there… You've been married to her for about 3 and a half years, you know? Six months after you got the job at The Mirror you met at a benefit you were covering and just hit it off. The press had a field day, but neither of you cared."

"Wait," you interrupt, attention peaked, "If you knew all this, why did you tell me to get a restraining order against her?"

Emily suddenly looks very apologetic and she pulls her hand back, fidgeting, "I… lost faith. It had already been 3 months and I was beginning to think that you weren't going to get your memories back, then that whole fiasco started where you thought she was _stalking_ you, of all things…" with a great sigh Emily runs her fingers through her hair and for the first time, looks tired, "She was hurting so badly and… I may not be her assistant anymore, but that doesn't stop me being her friend. I thought that either you would get your memories back and this would all blow over, or she should just be given a fresh start."

"Jesus, Em," you mutter with a slight smile, "You sure you're not in love with her?"

Emily snorts and shakes her head, "I'm perfectly content with Serena, thanks!"

You gape at her, "You… and Serena!"

Emily's smile fades and she nods, "Yeah… you know that. I know that you do, deep down you know it… But still, it's not fair that you have to forget something like that."

The silence is tense and you shift uncomfortably before voicing a question, "How did I find out?" When Emily looks confused you clarify, "About you and Serena?"

Emily smiles at the memory and you're jealous. So many great moment of your life that you don't know about…

"We were living together – Serena and I, that is – and we had an argument. I stormed out and turned up at your apartment. It must have been at least 11 but you let me in and let me talk. I didn't tell you who I was with, just about what had been said. You were such a great friend… we ended up talking about everything that night. Politics, books, _Runway_…" Emily brushes her hair out of her face and laughs, "Then, at about 3 in the morning, there's someone hammering on your door. You get up and open it to see Serena, standing there look positively murderous."

You find yourself grinning and continue speaking instead of her, "Then she screams 'Bitch, that's my Emily!' thinking that I was seducing you!" You laugh, joy in your eyes and delighting in Emily's shocked expression, "I remember! God, Em, I remember!"

It's a few moments before either of you notice Miranda in the doorway with a huge smile on her face. Emily breaks the silence.

"I shouldn't have given up hope, Miranda. This girl's got strength; she'll get those memories back if it's the last thing she does."

Looking into Miranda's fond expression you feel your heart melt for her. _'Yes'_ you think to yourself, _'I _will_ remember us, Miranda. Because I'm already in love with you, even if I don't remember falling in the first place.'_


	12. The Rest of Their Lives

_**A/N:**_** Well, it's the end! I know it may seem abrupt, but these are supposed to be vignettes… Thanks for all the lovely reviews!**

You run your thumb over the glass protecting the picture with a smile on your face. It's your wedding photo, sitting back in the silver frame on Miranda's desk where it belongs. You set it down and glance up at your row of favourite books, now surrounded by other books that you brought to the townhouse when you moved back in.

"Andy! You ready to go?"

You grin at the sound of Cassidy shouting and know that if Miranda were here at the moment she'd make some comment about living with animals. Instead of reprimanding the young girl – who is, at the age of 16, barely a girl anymore – you shout right back.

"Yeah Cass, I'll be there in a sec!"

"Mom and Caro are waiting! What are you doing?"

You don't reply immediately, choosing to caress the photo once more instead. In the 5 months since your very public breakdown, with the help of your friends, the twins and most importantly Miranda, your memory has improved a great deal. There are only some occasions that you can't remember and have the feeling that you should, but on the whole you're back to normal. And even if those memories don't return to you, you can always make more; like today, for instance.

Standing, you smooth out your dress and straighten your shoulders. Emerging into the hall of the townhouse you see Cassidy already waiting by the front door.

"Come on, Roy's outside."

You grin at Cassidy and nod, stepping towards the door and preparing to renew your vows to Miranda. You may have only been married for 4 years today, but after all that you've been through it feels like a lifetime.

You go towards the car with a smile on your face, happy to know you have a whole other lifetime to spend together.


End file.
